Collection of Random Oneshots
by stardustarchive
Summary: This is a collection of one shots that were written with prompts. Most of them are Dramione, though I've dabbled in other sorts of prompts, so you'll see an odd fic here and there.
1. Good

A/N: Written for a writing challenge. Prompt: Task #1: Write about an injury of some kind that leaves permanent physical scars on your character.

* * *

 **Good**

Draco was a fool. And a coward, and he knew it. Who was he, a Gryffindor who ran into dire situations recklessly? No, he was a Slytherin, who carefully planned every step of his way. Yet here he was, with a murder waiting on his hands because of his rash decision making.

He had stepped up for the job. He had volunteered himself, like a pig for slaughter. Looking back, he realized what an idiotic thing he had done.

For the longest time, he wanted to be just like his father. He wanted to be who his father wanted him to be. He wanted to live up to everyone's expectations. He wanted to be the person who he was going to be molded into. He wanted to serve the Dark Lord.

He didn't expect it to be so hard, so scary.

True, at first, he took up the job to clear the Malfoy name from the mud his father dragged it through. But then he realized, finally realized, that he had to kill someone in cold blood. And the thought made him sick.

The matter lay heavy in him all through summer. How could he kill someone? How could he betray the students of the school he had attended for five years? He didn't think he was truly a bad person inside - but he didn't think he was a good person either. Conflict. Confusion. Choices.

People would die, and he knew it. At least one person would die this year, and Draco knew who it was. He also knew who did the deed. It would be himself.

On the train to Hogwarts, he had told his trusted classmates - not friends, just trusted Slytherins - about his job. He had tried his best to look like the same, arrogant boy he knew he was. He wanted to impress his friends, all the while lying through his teeth. He was scared.

Draco did not to tell too much information to them. It wasn't that he didn't trust his fellow Slytherins, but it was because of the flash of white sneakers he saw in the air, as well as the cracking sound he heard when Crabbe's trunk swung.

It was Potter, the eavesdropping bastard.

After making sure that Potter had learned his lesson (it only involved a bit of blood and a bit of stomping, no matter,) he had set off to enjoy the feast.

Or maybe not. He did not eat anything that day, the entire day.

It was going to be a long year.

* * *

Every night, he'd slip off to the Room of Requirement, trying to repair the Vanishing Cabinet. It was a difficult job, and stress piled every night. The guilt gnawed at him from the inside. It felt like a monster was eating up any trace of goodness, innocence he had left.

And there was also the problem of finding a way to kill his headmaster - the less he people he killed along the way, the better.

So far, everything was wrong. The cursed necklace didn't work, the poisoned mead didn't work - they all went to the wrong people. After hours of careful planning, skillfully cast Imperius curses, nothing worked.

He was beginning to lose hope. He was going to die this year, he was sure of it. It was either him, or Albus Dumbledore. And he rathered it be him now. He was going to be forever branded by the ugly mark on his forearm, and forever labeled a death eater. What did it matter? He was already a corrupted person, why not give up everything now?

His grades were slipping. He quit quidditch. He wasn't eating much. He didn't talk much. He tried to mind his own business. Knowing that the Golden Trio would see right through him and his scheming, he kept his head down the time he was in public. He tried to avoid them as much as possible.

Who knew, maybe Potter already suspected him. Knowing him and his absurd luck, Potter already had an inkling of up Draco was up to.

But it wasn't Potter he was worried about. It was Granger. There was dread in his stomach when he thought about the day when she'd realize that it was him who killed someone, him who let the death eaters into Hogwarts.

Ever since fifth year, he had begun to notice her, watching her. She was energetic, happy, smart, pretty - what wasn't there to like? He still threw insults at her, knowing she'd be something he could never have, but even his ears, they sounded pathetic. The remarks had lost its venom.

However, watching was the only thing he did. He never made his way to apologize to her, or talk to her, or anything. Just watched. It wasn't love, it wasn't infatuation, just mild interest in her character. Maybe even a… crush.

Draco was sure that those feelings could've easily led to something more, but he never let them past the barrier. To what, he didn't know, but there was a barrier, and his feelings would never get past it.

He let her off on many occasions that year, like the time he caught her slipping out of the Room of Requirement - definitely about that club Potter made - like the time he pretended he hadn't noticed her fiddling with a fake galleon (he knew it was fake - he was rich after all, and knew what a legitimate galleon looked like).

He knew helping them, at least a little bit, in times like that were worth it, because deep down, in some place inside he refused to probe, he wanted the war over as much as everyone else did.

There wasn't a war yet. But every second, the Dark Lord was growing stronger, the so was the possibility that there would be a war.

And so more stress on the already heaping pile.

* * *

It had been the first potions class that Draco had ever smelled Amortentia. The scent was intoxicating, so incredible, so strong, the smell of fresh bread, vanilla, and roses.

He had a flair of hope when Professor Slughorn offered the Felix Felicis to the person with the best Draught of Living Death, but… of course, luck was on Potter's side, and the golden liquid filled vial went to Wonder Boy Potter.

What Draco didn't understand was that how Potter perfected his potion. Potter was never the best a Potions, yet there it was the perfect Draught of Living Death on his desk. But what Draco did understand was that there was no more of the liquid luck.

So he couldn't hope for the luck of the Felix Felicis for his task… but that was strangely alright. As soon as class was dismissed, Draco ducked out of class, cast a Disillusionment charm on himself, and went back into the classroom.

There was a cauldron full of simmering, pink potion with its distinctive mother-of-pearl sheen and steam rising in characteristic spirals.

Amortentia. A potion that gave a smell so wonderful that it lifted some weight off his shoulders.

Draco slipped out of the classroom with a vial full of Amortentia.

The potion's scent relieved some tension and anxiety of the thought of murdering someone; it calmed him down.

At times he lay in his bed, wondering what made the smell so special, so delightful. His dreams were often plagued with… something he was never able to reach.

When life got too difficult, he'd breathe in the love potion, and everything would be alright again, even if it was just for a couple of moments.

He didn't know what he'd do without his Amortentia.

* * *

Draco was taking a walk one day, trying to shake his disturbing thoughts of what else to try on the headmaster. He stayed in the shadows, not wanting to attract attention.

Suddenly, his path was filled with the sharp scent of his Amortentia.

Vanilla, roses, and fresh bread.

Potter, Weasley, and Granger were sitting in the shade of a tree, talking amiably. Draco felt a twinge of jealousy of how they were such good friends, no matter what happened. He'd kill for those kinds of friends.

No. Not kill. That phrase now held a new meaning. But he still longed for it.

The trio noticed him, lurking in the shadows. They were probably assuming he was up to no good, considering the disgusted looks Potter and Weasley shot at him.

But Granger - she just looked at him with her wide, doe like eyes, looking blissfully innocent.

It was Granger. It was her scent in his Amortentia - damn it. Not - not - this, not now. His life was complicated as it was. He thought he had let go of all feelings he had for her this summer, knowing it would bring danger to her - but... no. No.

Draco turned on his heel and strode quickly back to the castle. He needed time alone to think.

He found himself wandering around Hogwarts, trying to slow his rush of thoughts.

Then just his luck. He had bumped into the Headmaster.

"Hello, Mr. Malfoy," he said, his blue eyes twinkling behind his half-mooned spectacles. Draco froze, unable to think or do anything. He was going to kill this man, sooner or later. "May I help you with anything?"

Draco tore his gaze from Dumbledore's captivating eyes. He did the first thing that came to mind.

Run. Run, so no one could see his guilt, his shame, his pain.

So he ran. He ran until his breath was stuck, until his sides hurt. He was in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, his feet sloshing in the waterlogged floor. No one would see him. Good. But no, nothing was good. Nothing would ever be good anymore.

An uncharacteristic cry was ripped from his throat, and soon, he couldn't stop it. Tears rolls down his faces, sobs echoing on the bathroom walls. He couldn't do it. He couldn't kill his teacher - or anyone, in fact.

Enraged at his weak actions, Draco grabbed the vial of Amortentia from his pocket, and threw it at the wall. The bathroom was instantly filled with his favorite scent, his balm to his broken soul, his Amortentia.

Draco could hear Moaning Myrtle crooning, swooping in the air, but he could only reply with a strangled, "I - I can't," He was angry, ashamed of his unending pour of tears and sobs.

His mind felt blurry. The only clear thing was a pair of blue eyes, in his mind, whose twinkle that would be wiped out forever, by him.

Slowly, the blue eyes merged into brown eyes. Warm, welcoming, chocolate brown eyes. Granger's eyes.

He could feel his own sanity slipping away as he cried his heart out, as his mind was repeating, _you can't do it, you can't do it._

 _You can't do this to all these people._

 _You can't do this to yourself._

 _You can't murder someone who didn't do anything to you._

He felt dead, empty, shallow. Despair was clawing at his body, hope and goodness had already shriveled up and died. Everything was just too much.

So when he saw the reflection of his arch nemesis on the mirror, he felt the last shred of sanity he had left fly out the window and heard himself trying to cast an Unforgivable on a very stunned Potter.

* * *

"Sectumsempra!" Potter yelled as Draco blocked several of his spells. What was that? It was a spell he had never heard before. Caught off guard, Draco forgot to put up a Shield Charm, and the flash of white light was the last thing he saw before he got blasted off his feet from the impact of the spell.

Something warm spurted from his chest. Blood. His blood.

The pain was as if someone had slashed him with an invisible sword. Unbearable. He felt long, deep slits on his chest, and felt his blood rolling down his body, into the water. Draco saw the scarlet blood swirl and mix with the water. His clothes were wet and he never felt more vulnerable or in pain than now, even compared to the aftermath a session of torture with the Cruciatus Curse.

What was this spell? How could it cause so much pain and blood? How did Potter know this spell?

Through the corner of his eye, he saw Potter looking extremely wild. He was calling for help - sadistic beast, why was Potter yelling for help when he brought this curse upon him?

With a flourish, Professor Snape swept into the bathroom. It was the last person he wanted to see, that needling Snape, who always wanted to help him on his mission. It was his task and no way he was going to risk his pride and cave into the help Snape was offering. Who knew, maybe it was a loyalty test given by the Dark Lord himself. Nothing, no one was to be trusted anymore.

Snape bent over Draco, examining him. Draco saw a flash of recognition in his professor's eyes, but didn't think much of it as Snape murmured in his ear and helped him stand up.

"You need the hospital wing. There may be a certain amount of scarring, but if you take dittany immediately we might avoid even that…. Come…." Snape supported him out of the bathroom to the hospital wing.

Madam Pomfrey had been horrified when she noticed Draco's condition, but accepted Snape's curt explanation.

"Lay down here," she ordered, guiding Draco toward a hospital bed. "You may leave now, Severus,"

Snape left quickly.

After ten minutes of poking, prodding, and healing, Madam Pomfrey finally straightened and pocketed her wand. "This is the best I can do," she said. "I don't know what type of spell this person cast on you, but I'm afraid this is it,"

Draco looked down, and grimaced at what he saw. Six long gashes ran down his upper body, from his chest to his lower torso. The deep slashes had knitted into narrow white lines, but they were blatantly visible.

"Scars," Madam Pomfrey stated flatly. "It seems like these wounds were inflicted by some Dark Magic,"

"Thank you," Draco said, looking up to her, his voice sounding hoarse.

Madam Pomfrey gave him with a surprised look. The last time he was here, he was in third year over dramatically complaining and whining about an easily cured Hippogriff bite. "You're welcome," she said, and bustled into her office.

Draco looked down at his scars again. He deserved these. Never mind it wasn't fair or right for Potter to cast this ghastly spell on him; he deserved this pain and these scars. He needed reminders of what he was doing. How much hurt he was delivering to the world. Dark. He was a horrible person.

Madam Pomfrey emerged from her office with a potion in her hands. She thrust it at him. "Drink," she said.

Too tired to think anything of it, Draco gulped it down, and soon found himself falling into sleep.

When he awoke, there was a card on his bedside table. It said,

 _"I'm sorry for what Harry had done to you. I don't think you deserved it. Follow your heart, no matter the consequences. I believe there is something good in you. H.G."_

H.G. Hermione Granger.

Warmth flooded through him after reading her note, a fuzzy light slightly melting his rigid heart. He thought he could even catch a scent of his Amortentia on the note.

And so it was then and there he realized he couldn't do it. He couldn't murder someone, wouldn't. He knew murdering was wrong, knew he'd had to face the consequences with the Dark Lord later, but… he'd follow his heart.

He was only human. He wasn't invincible, and he had barely managed to stay sane through his Amortentia. He was definitely not perfect. The Dark Mark on his arm proved that. He should make his own decisions, follow his heart, instead of pretending to be someone who he was not.

But Granger had said she believed there was something good in him. Draco glanced down at his cuts again.

Was there good in him? Him, one who'd soon let death eaters into Hogwarts? Who had volunteered to kill Dumbledore? For a strange reason, he wanted to prove that he did have some good in him. But… did he? Was he good in any way?

No.

But he'd _make_ some good in him.

 **The end.**


	2. The Observer's Journal

A/N: Written for a writing challenge. This is written for a writing forum I'm in, so it's a lot different from what I - and the writers on this site, write. Prompt: Task #1: Write a fictional magazine or newspaper entry (completely in the format of a magazine/newspaper) from a Muggle source. You should reference to strange magical events and maybe canonical witch/wizard/muggles in your story.

* * *

 **The Observer's Journal**

 _Edition #251 November 1, 1981_

 ** _Downpours of Shooting Stars, A Barrage of Owls, A Fashion Trend, And A New Vocabulary - How Do They All Connect?_**

By Sapphire Hilton

The normal atmosphere of Little Whinging was broken yesterday when people - seemingly ordinary, everyday people - were seen walking down the streets of our cozy village in curious outfits. They were shopping, eating, and talking dressed in colorful, knee length robes. Could this possibly be a new fashion trend for young people, you may ask. No, as people recognized forty years and older were dressed in similar if not the same attire. Was an unorganized costume party going on?

Phrases that made no sense - such as 'You-know-who', 'Muggles', 'the boy-who-lived' - were uttered in stores, bars and other general areas that were packed to the brim with people cheering and celebrating. Was this new slang in our English language? Why were these people in these odd robes celebrating?

"It was extremely odd," remarks a troubled citizen named Carl Stamers. "There were people in these _gaudy_ robes, hugging me, and telling me to celebrate - for what, I don't know, but celebrate, even if I was just a… what was the word? Yes, _muggle_."

Also, local birdwatchers have stated that the owls all over the nation have been acting strangely. Owls are rarely seen during the day, as they are most active during the night. However, there has been hundreds of sightings of these birds fly in every direction. Experts cannot explain why the owls have suddenly changed their sleeping patterns.

"Outrageous," says another citizen of Little Whinging, Vernon Dursley, director of Grunnings, the drill making company. "I didn't notice the owls until later that day, but I definitely noticed those _people_ in that _clothing -_ ridiculous, ridiculous. And when I got home from work, there were these ruddy owls perched on my rooftop; a whole flock of them. I shooed them away, but then there was this cat sitting by my window - it was sitting there all day, I tell you - _reading the street signs_. I swear, reading the street signs!"

Many people, along with Mr. Dursley, are greatly disturbed by these strange occurrences.

On top of that, irregular showers of shooting stars have been reported in places as far apart as Kent, Yorkshire, and Dundee. Some people speculate that these bouts of 'shooting stars' were caused by people celebrating Bonfire Night a week early, but others think otherwise.

Could this all be a coincidence? Downpours of shooting stars all over Britain, owls flying by daylight, mysterious people in cloaks, whispers of unusual, unknown words?

What could all this possibly mean, and what effect will this have on our community?


	3. Bitter and Guarded

Written for a writing challenge. Prompt: Ice Lemon -

\- (word) Crystallize

\- (word) Sour

\- (dialogue) "I don't mean to be bitter. I just have a hard time opening up."

\- Bakery!AU - Bonus

\- (object) Muggle cash

* * *

An apology in advance: I am American and I have no clue on how the British currency exchange blah blah blah goes so I'll be using US dollars, which I am familiar with. Thank you!

* * *

 **Bitter and Guarded**

The bakery was filled with the hum of display cases. The day was almost over, and there was no one left in the shop. There was the whir of an old fan, filling the room with a rhythmic _chop, chop, chop._

The door opened with its tinkling bells sounding. Draco Malfoy looked up warily to greet the new customer with the last ounce of optimism he had left.

It had been a draining day; he had to deal with four different people who insulted him because of his past. Draco had chosen to work at a muggle bakery to escape the wrath of the wizarding world for the wrong doings he had committed in the past, but many wizards came to buy the famous breads and cakes here and they made his job difficult. Besides, no wizard job would probably ever take him anymore.

He opened his mouth to welcome the woman who had just entered with the same monotone voice he had been using the entire day, but his voice got stuck in his throat when he saw who the woman was.

It was Hermione Granger. The bushy brown hair was a dead giveaway. But her eyes were exhausted, and her shoulders were hunched, making her look as tired as he felt. She did not look like the girl he knew back in school. She shuffled up to the counter where he was standing. It seemed like she hadn't noticed him yet.

"What can I get for you?" he asked as pleasantly as possible, trying to keep the snark out of his voice. If she dare made a comment of his past he might as well explode from the stress.

Upon hearing the familiar drawl, Hermione looked up quickly. Her brown eyes widened in surprise as she registered who had spoken. Draco waited for her reaction with a tilted head.

"This is a muggle bakery, Malfoy," she said quickly, tossing a lock of her brown curls over her shoulder.

Well. That went better than he had thought it'd go. At least she didn't insult him like he had thought she would. For some reason, Draco felt relieved. He didn't think he could handle any more nasty comments today. "I'm aware," Draco said.

"And… you work here?" she asked.

Draco resisted the urge to roll his eyes, as she was a customer after all. The manager would fire him as soon as he found out he had treated a customer terribly. "No, Granger, I stand behind this counter meeting biased people who insult me every day just for fun. Of course I work here!"

"I - uh, of course," Hermione said, unsure of what to say to his comment. People insulted him? That meant wizards came here too... She had thought only muggles came to this quaint bakery. Besides, didn't they have anything else to do but insult him? How rude! "I just didn't expect you to work here."

Draco arched an eyebrow. "Why not?"

Hermione shrugged. "You know, considering this is a muggle bakery, and you don't really…. enjoy the company of muggles and everything," Hermione paused, looking slightly embarrassed at the intense gaze from Draco. "Oh forget it. I was just surprised I saw you here. I come here often and I never seen you before, so…"

"Well, I do, whether you like it or not. So would you hurry on telling me what you want before I combust from the anticipation?" Draco said irritably, tapping a pair of tongs on the counter.

Hermione sniffed, her nose in the air, all feelings of slight pity for him gone. "Hold your horses. I want… May I have two lemon pastries?"

"That'd be eight dollars," Draco said stiffly.

"Eight dollars?" Hermione echoed. "I thought the pastries here were six dollars ea-"

"Shut up," Draco snapped. Why couldn't she just accept things as it was? Why did she have to question everything? Why did she have to be so infuriating? "It's four dollars per pastry - it's on sale."

"Oh." Hermione stifled a yawn as Draco busied himself, shoving a lemon pastry in a paper bag. Using more force than necessary, he thrust the sealed bag at Hermione's direction.

Hermione fumbled around for her purse. She threw down a couple dollars as well as some coins on the counter. She snatched the bag out of Draco's hand and peered inside it.

He blinked down at the amount in front of him. "You gave me four dollars more than necessary."

Hiding her surprise that her bigoted schoolyard bully knew how to calculate muggle money, she said, "It's called _tip_. Besides, you gave me a pastry too many. What's that about?"

Draco shrugged. "It's called _charity_. You looked positively bedraggled."

Hermione rolled her eyes, quite aware of her appearance. "Why thank you, kind sir. You just made me feel so good about myself."

"You looked like you needed it," he said simply.

She did. Being part of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, she worked nonstop trying to maintain simply control but today was just crazy. And the lemon pastries sold here were to die for.

"Well… thank you," What else could she say? "Business alright today?"

Draco nearly snorted at the poor attempt at conversation, but he decided to play along. "It always drags at the end of the day, but it's usually packed to the brim."

"I - I see," Hermione said.

An awkward silence hung around them like a damp blanket.

"So… why did you decide working here?" Hermione asked.

A personal question. Draco shifted in feet in slight nervousness, but she couldn't see that. "I just… wanted to, you know?"

Lies. Working at a bakery wasn't exactly on his Top Ten Things To Do as a child. It wasn't considered a job a Malfoy would do.

"I see. So… " Hermione was running out of things to say; she was making him a bit jittery, she could see. "I've - I've heard about your mother."

Must she pick out the most uncomfortable things to say? His mother was slowly deteriorating as more time passed with Lucius in Azkaban; going insane. "Yeah."

"I'm sorry," Hermione said. "Is she… well now?"

Draco clamped his mouth shut and averted his eyes. He didn't have to answer her.

Hermione, sensing the awkwardness and Draco's unwilling to talk, reached into the bakery bag and pulled out a lemon pastry. She held it up to the light to examine it, and then she bit into it.

Flavors exploded in her mouth - sweet, tangy, lemony, with an aftertaste of slight bitterness. But there was one dominant taste - sourness.

"You know," Hermione said. "This lemon bread reminds me a bit of you."

Draco raised an eyebrow, unclamping his mouth. "Excuse me?"

"It does," Hermione said, taking another bite, glad she made him talking again. Ahead of her was an uneventful, lonely evening. At least this conversation, no matter who she was having it with (even her once enemy) was interesting.

"How, may I ask, does a pastry remind you of _me_?"

"A lemon pastry," Hermione corrected. "It reminds me of you because you're so… sour most of the time. Guarded. Bitter."

Draco was unsure of what to say. But something she had said struck him. "I don't mean to be bitter," he said slowly. "I just have a hard time opening up."

"Why?" Hermione pressed. "Why not?"

Draco swallowed, his mouth feeling dry. "Because I'm afraid," he said quietly. "I'm afraid no one would want to listen. And no one does, in the end."

Silence settled between them. Finally, Hermione spoke up. "There will always be someone's who's willing to listen."

Draco let out a bitter laugh. "There'd be someone who'd listen to _me_? A convicted death eater? A person who had to resort getting a muggle job because the wizarding community didn't accept him? Get real, Granger. No one will listen to me. And I won't waste my breath."

"You're saying to get real to me?" Hermione snapped. "I know all this by first hand. I _know_ the world isn't perfect. It's not supposed to be. But how can you expect the world to accept you and listen to you as a person? You've got a reputation of _killing_ people - "

"I don't expect them to," Draco said tiredly. "I don't expect them to. That's the thing."

Hermione's heart flipped at the sound of his defeated tone. "I - you're carrying a burden."

"I am?" Draco asked, straightening, mask on his face again. "I don't believe I am."

"You're always hiding under this mask," Hermione said frustratedly. Why did she feel like trying to help this man? It must be the war instincts going override, to help whoever in need. "You just keep whatever's ailing you in you, and it's eating you up from the inside."

"So what do you propose on doing?" Draco asked coolly.

"Talk to someone," Hermione emphasized. "It's easier to carry burden with another person than carrying it all alone."

"Who would listen to me? Who would talk to me? Well, this is a load of bull," Draco said irritably. "If you don't mind, Granger, I have work to do. I am a _very_ busy person - "

"There's no one here," Hermione pointed out, looking around, as if a person was hiding behind one of the chairs or tables.

"- and I have an extremely tight schedule. _Very_ busy, you see," he said, turning around, shuffling paper bags.

"I'll listen," Hermione blurted out, watching him.

Stupid, stupid, stupid! It must be the instincts again. This was Malfoy, for Merlin's sake. He'd probably laugh at her.

"What?" His voice was incredulous. But was that also… hope in his voice?

Hermione swallowed. "I'll listen."

Draco paused, doubt etched on his face. "Would you? Would you stay for every bit of it?"

"I will."

"Then… then I'll talk."


	4. Don't Say Good Bye

A/N: This was written for a writing challenge. **Task:** Write about a tragic moment when somebody has to leave a friend/ family member behind (focus especially on their feelings and thoughts) **Extra Prompts (Please use at least two):**

\- Character: Bellatrix Lestrange

\- Word: death

\- Genre: tragedy

\- Object: necklace

\- Action: crying

* * *

"It's not fair!" Muffled sobs echoed the Ministry walls outside the trial room.

"What can I say? Life isn't fair," he said gently, trying to sound lighthearted, still holding her. His voice wavered. "Life has never been fair for any of us."

"T-this is a life time sentence, Draco." She pulled apart from the embrace, placing her hands on his shoulder. "This is beyond unfairness." She shuddered, a fresh wave of tears overtaking her. His soft grey eyes shone with barely concealed sadness and unshed tears. "They're forcing you into Azkaban for the rest of you life because of the things you did when you were a teenager! I d-don't understand!" she said.

"I went through a trial. My deeds are done," he said quietly. "The law decided what to do with me. It says I'm staying in Azkaban for the rest of my life. I'm not going to fight this, Hermione. Not anymore. I'm done with fighting. I've had enough of fighting for a lifetime."

"You're not going to do anything about it?" she cried, feeling as if her heart was tearing in half. He wasn't going to fight it. He was going to go along with this. "You're going to accept this like this is okay?"

"I can't do anything about it," he murmured, feeling helpless and trapped. He pulled her into another heartfelt hug. His eyes reflected the dim light like broken mirrors. "I can't do anything to stop it. I would, even if were just for you, I would, if I could."

She rested her head on her shoulder. "Don't worry. This isn't the end." she said weakly. "But for now, I've got to tell you..."

"Shh..." he said, feeling more defeated. "You don't want to say anything you regret."

"No! I won't regret it!" she said. She took a deep breath. "I… I love you."

He sorely wanted to say it back to her, but he couldn't possibly ruin her future. His might be limited now, but she still had so many chances. He pushed her away to a distance where he could see her clearly.

"Don't wait for me," he said, forcing the words out unwillingly. "Find someone who'll make you happy - "

"Don't say that," she said, looking up to him pleadingly, tears streaming down her face. Every word he said was like a kick to the gut. "Don't say that."

The expression on her face broke his heart, like it was shattering into fine bits. "My final goodbye," he said hoarsely. The words sounded bitter in his mouth. He'd never see her again. He'd never see her smile again, laugh again. Ahead of him lay years of nothing. Years of no joy. He felt dizzy already. "Time to say good bye."

He could barely keep everything together, but he had to, for her. He heard footfalls coming down the hallway. There wasn't much time left.

"Don't, please, don't. Don't say goodbye," she begged, her brown eyes searching his.

It took his entire willpower not to listen to her. "G-good bye," he said for the last time.

Two tough looking guards appeared next to them. "Time to go," one of them said gruffly.

He let go of her slowly, his touch lingering. "Good bye," he whispered, as the two guards took him by the arms and started leading him away.

"This isn't the end," she repeated, calling after them. "I'll find a way!"

He did not look back.

Inside, she vowed she would try everything in her power to help him in any way.

* * *

She was afraid she'd break the flower stems the way she was clutching them.

She was walking alone, stepping over overgrown, unkept grass. The wind was whipping her curls into a tangle, her black robes billowing. She came to a stop in front of a small gravestone made of marble. It was a gravestone in the middle of nowhere. She carefully placed her bouquet of flowers on the grave.

 _Draco Malfoy 1980-2006_

He had died in Azkaban from insanity. He was originally going to buried in Azkaban's graveyard, but under her special request he had not been buried there.

It had been five years since he was sentenced to Azkaban. She had been thinking long and hard about what she was going to do in this moment, and she had come to a conclusion.

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

"Good bye." It was spoken in a whisper, barely audible. The wind whisked it away.


	5. Something Illegal - Kind Of

A/N: This was written for a writing challenge. **Task #8:** Neptune - Neptune was not known to the ancients. Write about someone staying under the radar.

P.S. This is an AU where Draco is a nice guy… I wrote about Hermione and him because I wanted this collection to be kind of Dramione themed.

 **Something Illegal… Kind Of**

"Pray, tell, _what_ exactly are you doing under my desk?"

Twenty-four year old Draco Malfoy gestured frantically for her to be quiet. His blond hair was tousled and his robes were wrinkled. His knees were drawn up to his chest, and he was - he was _sitting underneath her bloody desk._

"Malfoy - "

His eyes widened as he vehemently shook his head. He reached out and took Hermione's hand, and pulled her roughly next to him, into her _own_ desk.

"What the hell, Malfoy?" Hermione snapped, squirming at the closeness between them. "And also, what the hell?"

"Will you shut your bloody trap, Granger?" Malfoy muttered. "Trying to hide from a blood-thirsty Auror here."

"Now _that's_ something," said Hermione, trying to twist her hand out of his. "And I really don't care. Now, how about you let go of my hand, and - "

The death grip on her wrist tightened. "I can't let you go," said Draco. "You have to help me."

Hermione snorted. "Well, this is a great time and place to ask."

His grey eyes bore into hers. "I'm serious."

"I'm serious too. I have a ton of things to do right now. My work load probably just doubled in the time I was talking to you plus in the time I was away on break."

Malfoy flicked his wand (when did he get it out?), and there was an invisible shield barrier between inside and outside of the desk.

Hermione looked at him incredulously. "Did you just barricade us inside my desk?"

The desk wasn't big enough to begin with, but with two fully grown adults squished together inside it, it was downright _small._

"I need you to listen to me."

Hermione crossed her arms, a difficult feat considering there was so little space. "I'm listening," she said, obviously irritated. "Thanks to that horrible Shield charm you just put up."

"Okay, I want you to listen very carefully, Granger, because I'm afraid I've done something quite illegal - "

"Ha! Typical."

"Don't interrupt me," Draco said, irritated. "I need someone to keep my secret, and I've chosen you."

Hermione shook her head. "I'm honored," she said sarcastically. "But why me? Why not… Parkinson or Zabini, or something? You don't even like me."

"Yes, I do. I thought I showed my love and gratitude of your existence when I sent that bouquet of lovely flowers to you on Valentine's Day."

"You gave me a dozen wilting thistles."

"Same thing. Granger, I need help, and I am trying not to throw up at the fact I am asking you for it. You're the smartest witch of our age."

At this, Hermione blushed, mentally cursing the Chocolate Frog cards dubbing her that.

"I need that kind of help. The brilliant ideas in your mind."

"Fine," Hermione acquiesced. "But do we really need to do this _under my desk_? Why not somewhere for comfortable, like that nice coffee shop that opened a week ago in Diagon Alley?"

"I didn't have time to pick and choose, okay?" Draco said irritably. "Shurwell was on my tail, and I dove into the first safe place I found. Which, fortunately, was your desk."

Patrick Shurwell was a highly classified, solitary Auror that didn't bother himself with any trivial jobs. He was a good Auror, and damn, he knew it. Hermione knew because Harry complained about him at least four times a week for hours on end.

"Now I'm curious," said Hermione. "What did you do to get _Shurwell's_ attention?"

"Nothing," said Draco defensively. "Don't look at me like that, Granger. Really. I'm innocent."

Hermione continued to look at him 'like that'.

He sighed. "Well…" He looked casually down at his nails. "I may have swiped a level ten Ministry file."

Hermione's reaction was instantaneous. "Level _ten_?" she gasped out, choking on her own breath. "Only the Minister and his hand-picked group of people can access those files!" Being a level six all throughout her career so far in the Ministry, Hermione could only imagine what kind of information there was on level ten files.

"I know," said Draco, glancing quickly at his pristine watch. "And before you yell at me for being irresponsible or reckless or stupid or an albino bleach blond ferret, I'll have you know I needed the information to do my job."

"Why would you _possibly_ need - "

"I was trying to remove this ancient curse from this locket - tricky thing, it makes whoever touches it have painful spasms and makes you relive a nasty memory," Draco said, pulling his legs closer to his chest. Hermione could only imagine what memory Draco would've re-lived when he had touched it - perhaps the time he got turned into a ferret? "And I needed to do some research about the curse to take it off. But seeing how it was labelled under ' _ancient_ Dark Arts', it's not in any library or archive I've been to. I did a quick search and found a Ministry document about that curse that was redacted about four years ago. It's currently - well, it _was_ , under level ten restrictions."

"So you stole it," Hermione said. "How could you? You're so - so - bad! You are in serious trouble! You do know you can be sued for this? Sent to court?"

Draco smiled smugly. "I fixed the locket, and made the day of the little old lady who brought me her precious family heirloom."

Hermione let out a whoosh of breath. "No wonder Shurwell's after your ass, you are some hardcore piece of - wait, how did you even steal the file?"

The signature Malfoy smirk was already creeping on Draco's face. "Oh, you know, the classic bribing and blackmailing, and old connections, that kind of stuff."

"But," said Hermione, confused. "there are only a couple people who are level ten Ministry authorized and none of them - "

"Hacked it," said Malfoy, smirking widely. "It's ridiculously easy for even non-professional hackers to get into the servers. Magic."

"Wow," said Hermione. "Okay. Okay, then. How can I help you though?"

Draco glanced at his watch. "We've been talking for about eight minutes and forty-two seconds. I've only gained about ten minutes from distracting Shurwell (please don't ask how), which means he'll come looking for me here in about a minute or two. I need you to divert his attention to something else so I can get away from him. Will you help?"

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "No."

"Too bad. Because you will."

She caved. "Fine. But it's only because I pity your pathetic ferret ass."

Draco waved her statement away. "Whatever you say, my dear," he drawled.

Hermione humphed. "Take down your stupid Shield charm and we'll see what I can do - well, at least, I will. You'll be gone by then. So… now?"

Draco flourished his wand and the barrier dissolved. "Hurry," he whispered. "You have a minute and thirty-four seconds left."

Hermione frowned, calculating the numbers in her mind. "You're just throwing out numbers, aren't you?"

"Shh, I'm rounding. Now go! He's probably turning the corner to your office area."

Draco slipped out from under the desk and sprinted to the Ministry elevators, trying to keep a low profile.

Hermione quickly climbed out from under her desk too, smoothing out the wrinkles in her work clothes.

As Draco predicted, Shurwell rounded the corner a couple moments after Hermione had hurriedly sat down in front of her desk. Shurwell's strides were hurried.

Hermione spun around in her chair. "Oh! Mr. Shurwell!" she chirped. "May I have just a moment?"

He barely spared her a glance. "I'm terribly sorry, Miss, but I'm afraid I'm rather busy."

Hermione stood up from her seat. "This happens to be urgent," she said. "It's about the mermaid case you've been working on…" Thank the heaven and earth that she had been at least partially listening to Harry rant about Shurwell! She had some information she could use.

"...and I think negotiation should be more efficient than threatening, don't you think so?" Hermione concluded.

Shurwell looked impatient. "Look, Miss Granger, I understand. However, there happened to be a security breach in our level ten files and I - _we_ , have a lead on who it might be."

Hermione blinked. "Who may that be?"

"I - _we_ think it is Draco Malfoy. He does have a criminal record after all," said Shurwell. "And I am aware that you two aren't the best of buddies, so I'm sure you'd also want him captured and interrogated as to what information he stole and why he did it."

For a man who claimed he was busy, he sure talked a lot.

"I believe he passed through this area a couple minutes ago. Have you seen him?"

Hermione bit her lip. "Oh, yes. He went in that direction." She pointed in the opposite direction from where Draco went.

Shurwell's icy blue eyes studied her. "Thank you. Once we catch him, your help will be appreciated."

Catch him? That made Draco sound like some outlaw. It wasn't like he had done something extremely illegal, like, kill someone. Draco had just done something… mildly illegal. Like stealing restricted Ministry information without the proper clearance.

Hermione shook her head as Shurwell went in the direction Hermione had pointed at. "Merlin's saggy underpants," she muttered. "Draco Malfoy, you'll going to get yourself in Azkaban one day."

* * *

Next time Hermione saw Draco was at Flourish and Blotts two week after he, er, approached her, and he was gasping for air. He looked positively ridiculous.

"Granger," he said panting heavily, leaning on one of the bookshelves, "... need… time for… I'm... dying…"

"You can speak to me when you're ready to string together a coherent sentence," said Hermione indifferently, picking a book from the shelf.

Draco's breaths were slowing.

"What did you do?" asked Hermione. It was obvious he had been running from something. "What did you do now?"

"What do you mean, ' _what did I do now'_? Why must you always assume the worst of me? I have done nothing in my entire life that shows any indication I could've done something wrong now."

Hermione cocked her head. "What about that level ten file?"

"We already confirmed that was purely for work-based purposes," said Draco, twisting his robes in his hands.

"Sure…" Hermione said, dragging out the word. "Well, how about the numerous times you bullied Harry, Ron, and I?"

"That doesn't count," Draco said, brushing invisible lint off his robes.

"Or what about when you cheated on that Potions test in fifth year?"

"That too," said Draco hurriedly. "Wait, how do you even know or remember that?"

Hermione tapped her temple, setting the book back on the shelf. "I know _everything_ , Malfoy. Except what you did just now. What did you do?"

"I didn't do anything wrong. I swear."

Hermione frowned. "What did you do?"

Draco heaved out a sigh. "Okay, okay, I'll tell you, only because I'm super awesome and am a brilliant friend…"

"Get on with it, ferret."

"I - " Draco looked up toward the ceiling, studying the tiles intently. "may have done something illegal… kind of. Not exactly. Just a smidge."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I figured. What did you do? Note that I'm asking this question about seven billion times now."

He looked around as if searching for eavesdroppers, then whispered in Hermione's ear. "I rigged the Ministry security system so that I wouldn't appear like a wrongdoer in anyway, and snooped around in those locked filing cabinets, but that freaking mutation of a hippogriff Shurwell caught me and I had to run to a secure Apparation point and then Apparate, but Shurwell put a Tracking spell on me and followed me, so I ran to the nearest place I could - "

"You're rambling, Malfoy."

"Am not."

"You are."

"I'm not."

"Yeah, you were."

"You know, you're one of the most annoying witches I've met in my life. Second to Pansy of course. She was… quite something else."

"And you know, you're one of the dumbest ferret faces I've met in my entire life. Oh wait, never mind, you are the _only_ ferret face I've ever encountered."

"Granger, you - "

"Malfoy, you - " she mimicked.

"Stop mimicking me!"

"Stop mimicking me!"

"Okay, now it's getting creepy."

"Yeah, it's getting creepy."

"Stop."

"You stop."

"This is pointless."

"I know."

"Let's stop."

"Let's not."

Draco ran a hand through his blond hair exasperatedly. "Alright, well, although you are one of the most infuriating witches I have known, you are also the smartest. I'd even take the liberty to say _the_ smartest."

Hermione placed her hand over her heart. "I'm touched, _Draco_ ," she said, purposely using his given name. "But where are you going with this?"

Draco mumbled something.

"What?" Hermione asked sweetly. "Sorry, couldn't hear you."

"I said," said Draco through gritted teeth, "I need your help again. Not only Shurwell's on me, but so is a couple other Aurors and a couple of Ministry officials. Not good."

She sighed dramatically. "Right. So what can I do for you, Malfoy? Again, might I add?"

"Hide me," Draco said, scrunching up his eyebrows. "Again."

"Right."

Then he brightened considerably. "Oh, and I also sent an endless loop of cat videos to McGonagall too."

Hermione's eyes widened. "Wait, _you_ yourself hacked the Ministry security system?"

Draco shrugged. "Wasn't hard."

Her eyes narrowed.

"Fine," Draco relented. "I had a guide… Magical Hacking for Dummies… but that's really not the point."

The bell to the bookstore's door tinkled.

"Oh, damn!" Draco squealed. "It's them. Help me!"

He dove behind a large bookcase, knocking off a couple books off it's shelf.

Hermione's wand dropped out of the sleeve of her wand into her hand.

The first thing Hermione saw of Patrick Shurwell was his eyes. The cold blue eyes that seemed to see all.

Obviously, they didn't see all, or he would've seen Draco badly hidden behind the bookcase, cowering for his life. Wasn't it an Auror's job to look thoroughly around them to see that their target wasn't right in front of them?

She heard a couple of other people spread out across the bookstore.

Hermione cast a Disillusioning spell on Draco nonverbally, hoping Shurwell didn't have some sort of magic detection gizmo before hiding the wand covertly behind her back.

"Miss Granger," he said coolly. "We meet again."

"Oh," Hermione said, smiling brightly. "I'm always at the bookstore, Mr. Shurwell."

Shurwell tilted his head slightly. "Did you happen to see Draco Malfoy in here? We have Tracked him to this location, but we…" He swept his eyes around the bookstore. "don't see him."

Then, his eyes trained on a slightly wavering magical sheen behind the bookcase - her Disillusionment charm.

"Is that - "

Her heart racing erratically, Hermione fired a quick Stunning spell at the Auror while his attention was off of her.

Shurwell slumped to the floor. Hermione did a quick memory wipe so that he wouldn't remember his last hour awake. Then the impact of what she did hit her. She had Stunned one of the most highly-regarded Auror in a bookstore. It was against the law to stop an Auror from doing a search without a legitimate reason.

"Oh great," came Draco's muffled voice. "You did something illegal too. We now match."

"Oh, shut up," Hermione snapped. "I did it for you, you twat." She lifted the charm.

He smiled up at her. "I know."

There was the sound of footsteps thumping approaching.

"That's probably the officials," Hermione whispered. And so without warning, she grabbed Draco's arm and Apparated away.

* * *

"Harry - Harry - " Hermione pounded on the door, the hinges rattling. "Open the door, you incompetent piece of - "

The door wrenched open, with a tired looking Harry on the other side. "Merlin, Hermione," he said yawning. "You practically woke up the entire wizarding population."

"Oh no," said Hermione, shaking her head vehemently, her brown curls flying everywhere. "It's Saturday, one in the afternoon; _no one's_ still asleep."

Harry blinked blearily. "Okay. So, why are you here?"

Hermione made a face. "I may have done something illegal… kind of. I need a place to stay, and an Auror's house is hardly a place they'd look first. Patrick Shurwell's after me, so - "

"Sure," he said immediately.

"Thanks," said Hermione. "Oh, and Malfoy's staying here too."

Behind her, Draco gave a small wave to Harry.

She pushed past the Boy-Who-Lived and motioned for Draco to follow her.

"Wait!" Harry called as she disappeared into his own house. "Hermione! You can't just - Tell me _why_ a ferret is in my house!"

"We did something illegal, I told you!" Hermione called back, her voice faint from the distance.

Harry stared, then shook his head exasperatedly. He didn't really mind Shurwell messing up every now and then after all.


	6. This is Normal

A/N: This was written for a writing challenge. **Care of Magical Creatures, Task #1:** Write about someone throwing objects for some reason.

 **This Is Normal**

It started out as a normal dinner during a normal year at Hogwarts. Well, as normal as dinner at Hogwarts could _ever_ be.

Students has been shuffling in one by one into the Great Hall, and soon enough, it was filled with conversation, rambunctious laughter, and the clinking of forks and glasses.

It was normal. Peaceful. Normal. _Normal_.

"Hey Snivellus!"

 _Normal_.

Dark eyes glittered above the Potions textbook over at the Slytherin table with annoyance.

"I've always wondered why - "

James Potter's voice was drowned out by a very loud whoop of laughter from the Hufflepuff table.

There was now a smirk on the pale Slytherin boy. He scanned the Gryffindor table for - not _Potter,_ obviously - but for a pretty red-haired girl…

The sparkling green eyes of Lily Evans met his. Severus's smirk morphed into a small but genuine smile. She smiled back before turning back to the table.

Severus refocused on the textbook in front of him, idly pushing his baked beans around in his plate.

At the Gryffindor table, James was talking furiously to Sirius and Remus.

"Did you just _see_ the way Snivellus was looking at _her_?" he asked, gesturing a chicken bone wildly in the air as his normal conversation starter.

"No…?" Remus said, forking a piece of dry lettuce. "Did you?"

Sirius stared at Remus. "Who the hell eats a salad for dinner?" he asked. "I'd starve to death!"

"Sirius!" James whined. "This is important!"

"And you don't even eat it with ranch! Who doesn't eat salad with _ranch_? See, Remus, you're doing all those poor little leaves injustice by eating them plain. You need ranch. Ranch can - "

"Sirius!" James said, flicking a chicken bone at him. Sirius batted it away without even blinking.

"Remus, I'm serious!"

He rolled his eyes. "Of course you're serious, _Sirius_."

He waved it off. "Oh, I didn't even mean to this time. But ranch - "

"Stop it with the ranch!" James exclaimed before dumping a rather large bowl of it over Sirius's head. "Happy now? Enough ranch? See how Remus has some on his salad now too?"

All three of them looked down at Remus's salad. A glob of ranch from Sirius's hair fell into it.

"Um, yuck."

"What the hell?" Sirius leapt up, ranch flying from his clothes. His hair was streaked with milky white ranch. Sirius grabbed a bowl of baked beans from the table and dumped it over James. They slid down his neck onto his clothes. "Ha! We're even now!"

"At least I'm a bit drier than you," James pointed out.

Sirius scrambled to the table again and got a glass of pumpkin juice that he subsequently poured over James.

"Hey!" James said. "That's not fair!"

"Well, I've got ranch all over me!" Sirius replied, gesturing toward his whole body.

James scoffed. "No duh, Sherlock," he said, setting down the now empty bowl of ranch back on the table.

"Sherlock?" Sirius asked, sounding insulted. "I'm Sirius."

And there he was, in the middle of the Great Hall, drenched in ranch dressing, insisting James said his name properly, not confuse it with some pansy kind of name like _Sherlock._

By now, everyone was staring at him. And that was rather normal, if one thinks about it.

Then a few moments after the pin-drop silence, a rather squeaky voice cried out,

"Food fight!"

None of the teachers afterwards couldn't figure out who had started the full-fledged food fight in the Great Hall, though many, both students and teachers alike, had a sneaking it was Peter Pettigrew, who had just entered the dining hall.

But the reaction was almost spontaneous.

Food started flying everywhere, and previously decently volumed conversations turned into screaming fits and inhuman shrieks.

Professor Flitwick had decided to be the responsible teacher had tried to get the situation under control.

"Students! Students! We must all stay - " That was all he said before a pie hit him straight in the face with such force it knocked him over.

Dumbledore helped him up, with the usual playful twinkle in his eyes, while McGonagall looked on, thoroughly miffed, though she didn't do anything to stop

Back at the Gryffindor table -

"James!"

"Sirius!"

"This is all your fault!"

"This is all _your_ fault!"

"You're the one who dumped the ranch on me!"

"You're the one who kept going on about the stupid ranch!"

"Well, technically then, it's Remus's fault since he was the one who didn't put the ranch on his salad."

They both looked over to Remus, who had gotten another plain plate of salad and had calmly proceeded to eat in the chaos. They could always rely on Remus if they ever wanted to keep their sanity in check. Not that they did, or else that'd be abnormal.

"Well," said James, "don't put the blame on Remus since you're the one who wasn't listening to me about… about Snivellus! It's all his fault! I mean, it's yours too, but - "

A glob of mashed potatoes hit the side of Sirius's face.

James nodded. "See, it's karma."

Sirius shook the potatoes off his face. "Look, it's really Snape's fault, seeing how that tosser was the one who looked at Lily the wrong way, but it seems like he's not gettin' any of that karma."

They looked to the Slytherin table, where Severus was simply standing with the textbook in his arms, his black robes impossibly clean.

"We practically started this food fight to get back at him for all the things he's done to us," said Sirius. "I say he gets personal treatment."

James cracked his knuckles and cocked his head in what he hoped to be a menacing way. "Oh, boy, he's is _so_ going to get it - "

A loud crash startled them both. A group of Gryffindors had tipped their dining table into a fort.

Sirius raised his eyebrows. "Smart," he said, watching Remus protest that he didn't get to finish his salad.

"Sirius? Our mission?"

"Oh yes," he agreed, as he gathered up the plates with their dinner inside them.

They spent the next half hour hurling chicken bones, treacle tarts, mashed potatoes, and baked beans at Severus while also trying to shield themselves from the barrage of foods they had coming in their way.

"Can't admit defeat!" James called, scooping up some baked beans from its bowl to throw at Snape.

"I know!" Sirius replied. "But can you tell me the reason why again?"

James gave an exasperated sigh, which turned into a slight squeal of euphoria as his beans had hit its target. "Because we're getting back at Snape for all the cruel things he'd done to us in the past years."

Sirius nodded. "Oh, right…"

The teachers were also having a bit of fun, casually tossing around food bits for amusement, while the students had heated competitions.

The Great Hall had never been so loud and crazy, and it was just about when everything seemed to lose control, everyone quieted down, stopped their movements, and stared.

It was Professor McGonagall. A treacle tart had hit her square in the face.

No one dared to breathe. In one almost simultaneous and fluid motion, the student body dragged their gaze to where the dessert had come from.

There was collective gasp as they saw Dumbledore, a twinkle in his blue eyes.

All hell broke lose when everyone saw their usually strict and uptight professor take of handful of mashed potatoes at flung it at their headmaster.

Now _that_ , was _not_ normal.


	7. No Response

**A/N:** This was written for a writing challenge. **Task** : Write a funny story about a HOH during a career advice meeting with one of their students.

 **Extra Prompts:**

\- (dialouge) "Did I say something wrong, Professor?"

\- (action) knocking something over

 **Word Count:** 938

 **No Response**

"Hello, Mr. Weasley, please have a seat." Minerva gestured toward the plush chair in front of her desk, peering at the student standing in her doorway over her spectacles.

Ron walked in, attempting to be casual. He swung his arms by his sides, chin raised high.

 _I do wish he wouldn't walk like that,_ Minerva thought. _I have this vague feeling that he'd break something in my small office -_

Minerva winced at the loud crash; Ron had knocked over her lamp at the edge of her desk.

"I'm so sorry, Professor," he mumbled, kneeling down to pick it up. "I was just so nervous about this - er, I think your bulb's broken."

"We do have, Mr. Weasley, magic for a reason," Minerva said.

"Oh, yeah… " Ron said sheepishly before he pulled out his wand.

 _Shame, that was my favorite lamp. Things fixed with_ reparo _never really turn out the same again, even bulbs. But come to think of it, I don't think I've ever broken that bulb since 1978… oh, what am I doing?! That stupid lamp now has some sentimental value to me? Who am I, Belle, from Beauty and the Beast?_

And Minerva was jolted out of her thoughts once again with the sound of her lamp exploding.

"Mr. Weasley!" Her voice sounded too shrill for her liking for just a lamp, so she look a deep breath. "Were you trying a nonverbal spell?"

The tips of Ron's ears were a shade of pink. "Er, not exactly, I just thought I smelled some treacle tarts, and I thought - well, my wand - I'm really sorry. "

Minerva nodded curtly. "That is alright, Mr. Weasley. Let's move on to the career part of today's meeting, shall we?"

Minerva started shuffling some papers on her desk as if she were looking for something, but she really wasn't. Being compulsively neat as she was, her students' papers were in alphabetical order, color coded even. Paper shuffling just made her seem more serious and important.

"Ah, here it is," she said, pulling Ron's papers out of her meticulously ordered file. "Now, what would you like to be when you grow up?"

Ron was silent for a moment, and then he said, "I don't know."

Minerva was prepared for these answers. Afterall, she had been dealing with students with the same responses for the last hour and a half.

"Well, what do you enjoy to do?"

Ron shrugged. "I don't know, Professor."

 _Okay, that kind of answer wasn't unheard of_ , Minerva thought. _But it's time to dive into some super sneaky question asking…_

"Alright, then, Mr. Weasley. What do you do in your spare time?"

"Well… not much."

 _WHAT?! How could there be_ nothing _?_

"Anything, Mr. Weasley, anything…"

"Oh, I hang out with my friends. And eat with them. Or just eat in general. You know, it doesn't matter if I'm alone or not."

 _That's a start._

"And, um, I play wizard's chess with Harry - I always win, by the way," Ron said, quickly looking up to the professor.

 _We're getting somewhere…_

"I'm considering of joining the Quidditch team, but don't tell Harry that."

 _Okay, okay, well there's got to be more._

"And… that's pretty much it."

 _That's_ all _? What kind of life does he lead?_

Minerva cleared her throat. "Do you enjoy doing those things?"

Ron tilted his head, thinking for a moment. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess so."

"Is there anything else that you enjoy to do?"

"I like to watch international Quidditch games, eat food, um, visit Diagon Alley, and - did I say I liked to eat food? Yeah."

Minerva wrote everything he had said on her record sheet for him. She tapped her quill against her chin. "Are you, perhaps, interested in becoming a Quidditch player?"

Ron thought for a moment. "That'd be nice, but I'm almost no good. I mean, note that I said almost, because - because I'm a pretty good Keeper.

Minerva scanned her paper again. "What about a chef? You've shown quite an interest in your… delight for food."

Ron shook his head vehemently. "I mean, I love food, but I only enjoy eating. I mean, making it for others and me myself not getting any? Not cool."

Minerva sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Okay. So tell me your plans for your future."

Ron settled in his chair, looking deep in thought.

A minute passed.

"Lunch." Ron said confidently.

 _Dear Merlin's saggy underpants_ , Minerva thought.

The professor cleared her throat. "I meant in a sense of a long-term plan."

Ron looked baffled. "Er, well… dinner?"

Minerva had to restrain every ounce of her being not to run to the Astronomy Tower and jump off or slam her head on her nice mahogany desk in front of him. There would be plenty of time for that after.

"All right," said Minerva. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Weasley."

"Wait, is that all? Harry told me it'd be more thorough with details and things like that."

"Oh no," Minerva assured him. "I've found out everything I needed to know."

Ron frowned. "Are you sure? Did I say something wrong, Professor?"

Minerva gave him weak smile from behind her desk. "No, Mr. Weasley. Thank you for your time."

She stood up and walked him toward the door.

Minerva waited until Ron had disappeared out of her view into the hallway before she closed the door, took her place behind the door, and slammed her head onto her desk. Twice.

* * *

"Minerva," Dumbledore said in the Great Hall during dinner. "You have a bruise on your forehead. What happened?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," Minerva snapped as she watched Ron happily gorge on his long-term plan of dinner.


	8. How To Ruin A Wedding

A/N: This was written for a writing challenge. Muggle Media Task #9 - Elf: Write about reconnecting with estranged relatives.

 **Word Count** : 1772

 **Extra Prompt** :

(dialogue) "I missed you."

 **Warnings:** This a Dramione fic!

* * *

 **How To Ruin A Wedding**

Hermione eyed the bridesmaid dress she was wearing in the mirror with suspicion. "Are you sure this looks okay? I feel like a five-year-old ballerina."

Her mother popped her head out of the bathroom doorway. "It was your Aunt Gertrude's choice, not mine," she said, grinning.

Hermione smoothed her poofy dress down. "Part of me wants to show up at her wedding in sweats just to see Cecilia's reaction," she muttered.

Hermione's mother shook her head exasperatedly. "I think Gertrude would be more annoyed than Cecilia if your did."

"Cecilia would rip out my hair. Remember that time when I was nine and had the last slice birthday cake?"

Her mother sighed, but did not reply, instead disappearing back into the bathroom.

T"We're leaving in ten minutes!" Hermione's father called from downstairs. "You girls ready?"

Hermione took a deep breath, and headed down the staircase.

* * *

Harry glided effortlessly off his Firebolt as he noticed Draco waiting for him on the ground,his hands shoved in his robe pockets.

"Malfoy," Harry greeted, a crooked grin on his face. "Still too chicken to ask?"

The blond's scowl told him more than enough.

"Still waiting for the 'perfect time'?" Harry asking, rolling his eyes.

"I don't know how you pulled it off, Potter," Draco muttered. "Every time I try, something interrupts me some way or another."

Harry set his Firebolt down. "It doesn't have to be perfect, you know. She won't care. When I asked Ginny, it was pretty horrible–I mean, it pretty much backfired–but she said yes."

Draco looked down.

Harry let out a frustrated sigh. "You've been carrying around that ring for, what, now, a year? Get a backbone and ask. She'll be thrilled."

"What if she's not? We'll then tell each other that it's okay, but we'll start growing apart, and then I'll just—"

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose. "I guess it's Harry Potter to the rescue again," he grumbled, though good-naturedly. "You know where's she's going today, right?"

Draco looked up. "Yeah, to her cousin's wedding, or something. She was complaining about it the entire weekend."

"Why don't you go with her? She'll be so happy," Harry asked.

"Oh wow, I did not think of that!" Draco snapped sarcastically. "No, I have this council meeting later today. I told her to take you. Or Weasley."

Harry shook his head. "Ron's busy at the joke shop today, and I'm supposed to be at mission debrief at about… now," he said, glancing at his watch. "But do you have to got to that meeting? I mean, it's some stupid international Healer joining thing, right? Just skip it. Surprise her. After that, ask her and she'll probably say yes. You get to be a knight in shining armor."

Harry blinked. "Merlin, I'm a genius!" He said. Then glancing at his watch again, he said, "Okay, I do have to go now. Think about what I said!"

* * *

After the almost three hour drive that could've taken about three seconds Apparating, she had come to listen to this:

"Ooh! And look at the flowers that I chose, Aunt Kathleen!" Miranda gushed, dragging Hermione's mother along as she animatedly described all the aspects of the wedding she had contributed to. She hadn't even spared Hermione a glance yet.

Hermione wandered slowly along the halls, marveling at the exquisite decorations. How Aunt Gertrude had managed to book such a beautiful wedding hall, Hermione didn't know.

"Hermione!" a vivacious girl's voice called behind her.

Hermione turned around. "Rebecca!" she exclaimed , hugging the young girl. "How were you? It's been what, almost ten years since we've actually seen each other face to face?"

"I've been great!" Rebecca cheerily replied. "Cecilia's been a bit of a pain in the arse, getting married and all that, but life's good. How about you? After you leaving for that boarding school in Scotland, we only really talked through mail."

Hermione sighed. "Fine," she said. How could she describe to her younger Muggle cousin about what had happened over the past ten years?

Rebecca wiggled her eyebrows. "Anyone special in your life nowadays?"

Hermione let out a small laugh. "Yeah, actually."

"What?" Rebecca asked, squealing. "You didn't tell me!"

"Because I was going to tell you today," Hermione said, smiling fondly at her cousin. Sometimes, she couldn't understand how Rebecca was the sister of such snobbish people like Aunt Gertrude or Miranda. Rebecca so lively and kind, on the contrary of Miranda—

"Rebecca! There isn't time for conversations right now! You need to be ready with the flowers right now!"

Seeing Hermione, Miranda's haughty expression turned into a sneer. "What do you know, it's the buck toothed Hermy!"

Hermione scoffed. "Yeah, that's old," she said before turning around back to Rebecca. "When's dinner?" she asked her.

"In about ten minutes," Rebecca replied.

Miranda narrowed her eyes. No one just ignored her like that. "So, Hermione, how was your stupid school is Scotland like?"

Hermione tilted her head. "It was… rather magical," she said, internally smiling. "The school years were all very thrilling."

"Hmph!" Miranda held her chin the air, stalking off.

* * *

Forks and knives scraped against plates. Hermione's mother, father, Aunt Gertrude, Miranda and Cecilia were gathered around the table eating dinner.

"I personally think rehearsal weddings are really stupid," Rebecca stage whispered to Hermione, who was on the right of her.

Cecilia and Aunt Gertrude, who had overheard, shot Rebecca a death glare.

"It's my wedding!" Cecilia hissed.

Hermione dramatically leaned over to Rebecca and whispered loudly, "I think so too."

Aunt Gertrude cleared her throat. "So, Hermione," she started, "what do you do for a living?"

Hermione thought for a moment. How would one describe the job as an Auror?

"I catch criminals and toss them into prison," she said shrugging, going with a simple explanation.

Rebecca's eyes widened. "Wow," she breathed.

Hermione shot her a smile.

"Anyone special in your life as of late?" Aunt Gertrude asked.

"Mum!" Cecilia said. "As if our little Hermy would have someone yet… or ever."

"And that's how shallow they get," Hermione muttered. Rebecca patted her hand comfortingly.

Aunt Gertrude smiled. "Just trying to catch up with my favorite niece."

Hermione's mother and father both looked at her with a single question written on their faces: do we tell them off?

She gave them a look that said I got this, before speaking up.

" Actually I do have someone."

Miranda narrowed her eyes. "Then why isn't he here?"

"He's busy. He's a doctor, which is an actual career."

"Are you implying that my boyfriend doesn't have an actual career?" Miranda asked.

"I don't think being a DJ particularly counts," Rebecca pointed out. "Besides, how did you know, Hermione?"

"I know her type," Hermione mouthed to her.

Rebecca suppressed a giggle as dinner resumed for the rest of the night fairly peacefully.

* * *

The wedding had gone by sluggishly, Aunt Gertrude always criticizing Hermione about her hair, or shoes, or whatever else she could complain about.

Cecilia had walked the down aisle to her fiance, said their vows, before officially becoming married.

"He'll dull," Rebecca had whispered to Hermione. "His name's Terrence Williams and he's the boringest man on the planet."

It was the party after the wedding that truly lifted Hermione's spirits. More than just lifted, really.

Everyone was dancing to the music. Cecilia and Terrence were slow dancing to the waltz that was currently playing.

Hermione leaned against the wall, not particularly wanting to dance, until—

"Hey," said a voice she had been wanting to hear all weekend.

Hermione spun around to see Draco smirking at her.

"I missed you," Hermione whispered.

He raised his eyebrows. "We saw each other three days ago."

"That's too long," she mumbled.

He gave her one of his quirky half-smiles he used only for her before asking, "Do you want to dance?"

Hermione smiled back. "Yeah."

They started dancing together, him occasionally twirling her around, in sync with the music.

"Oh. My. God."

Hermione turned to see Rebecca smiling ridiculously.

"Wow, you're so freaking blond—people could spot you from the moon."

He chuckled. "Thanks?"

"Are you Hermione's bae?" Rebecca asked.

"Bae?" Draco asked, confused.

"Before anyone else," Rebecca answered. "You're that guy Hermione talked about?"

"Yeah," Hermione said, smiling. "Draco, this is Rebecca, my cousin, and Rebecca, this is Draco."

"Nice to meet you," she said, bouncing on the heels of her feet.

"You too," he answered, as he watched her scurry away into the crowds of people dancing.

"How'd you get in?" Hermione asked as they continued dancing.

"I'm a Malfoy, remember? I own about half of the damn world. This is a Malfoy wedding hall."

Hermione playfully punched him. "You could've saved me from my misery earlier, then, right?"

Draco stayed silent for a moment as they swayed to the music. "There was a reason why I came, Hermione," he said.

She looked into his eyes. "What is it?"

"I've been thinking and everything, a lot, especially over the last couple of months, and I thought—well, Hermione, I—I love you."

"I love you too, Draco, but why do I get a feeling that's not why you came here?"

Draco broke apart from his light embrace with Hermione before slowly sinking down on one knee and pulling out the ring he had been carrying around for over a year, making Hermione's hands fly up to her mouth.

"Hermione, you make me so happy, and I hope I make you happy as much as you do to me. I've waited, thought, waited, and thought about when I should ask you, but the truth is, I can't wait anymore. Hermione Jean Granger… will you marry me?"

She stared at him, her mouth agape. People had stopped dancing and started to stare at them too.

The silence was getting slightly long enough to making Draco start getting a bit worried.

"I'm hyphenating!" Hermione blurted out.

Draco blinked. "What?"

"Granger-Malfoy," Hermione said. "I still want my name too, you ferret. The answer's yes, by the way."

Draco leapt up, and kissed her with fervor, before realizing almost everyone was watching them.

"Yes!" came the high-pitched voice from the crowd, which Hermione suspected as Rebecca's. Then, as of a movie had ended, people started clapping For them.

"This is my wedding!" came Cecilia's enraged screams. "You can't steal my thunder!"

Her cries, however, were drowned out by the sound of thunderous appluase.


	9. The Perfect Idea

A/N: This was written for a writing challenge. **Ancient Runes, Task #1** \- The rune Dagaz, meaning day or dawn, is associated with breakthrough, awakening, awareness, and daylight clarity as opposed to nighttime uncertainty. **Task 1: write about someone having a moment of genius, or perfect clarity of thought.**

Warnings: Dramione and it's corny. Just deal with it.

Word Count: 1381

* * *

 **The Perfect Idea**

* * *

"Get up. Get up, Hermione, you can't stay here forever. It's 11 PM."

"One second, let me finish this report," she mumbled, her quill scratching on the parchment paper.

Harry poked her arm with his wand. "Hermione. _Hermione_."

"Stop poking me," she said, not even looking up.

"I will if you tell me that you didn't skip lunch and dinner."

"I didn't skip dinner," Hermione replied, finally looking up at him.

Harry crossed his arms. "What did you have?"

Hermione bit her lip, looking away. "Chips," she said.

"That hardly counts as a meal." Harry waved his wand, Hermione's parchments and quills flying to their proper places. "You're coming home with me for dinner. You've been skipping meals too much."

"I get caught up in my work, okay?"

"Too caught up," Harry muttered. "And you need to get some sleep."

* * *

"Harry, I got it! I got it!"

Harry blinked, racking his brain for any open-ended conversations he had earlier with his wife as she walked briskly into the living room the next day.

"Oh, Merlin, I'm such a genius! Harry, don't you agree?"

Ginny had a habit of continuing conversations hours after they had seemingly completed one.

"—and I thought, well, that's brilliant, because Hermione, Merline, she's so uptight and needs to have fun once in a while, you know? So—Harry, are you listening to me?"

Which led to a lot of confusion, seeing how everything she said usually had no context. At all.

"Um—"

Ginny playfully whacked him. "Stop daydreaming, silly. I'm telling you my master plan here."

Harry raised eyebrows. "Master plan?" he asked.

Ginny nodded, smiling. "An extremely complicated plan devised so that Hermione has some fun."

"Can't she do that herself?" Harry asked.

Ginny scoffed. "Oh come on, look at her, always buried in her work, working extra hours, and all that. She's _physically not capable_ of having fun. So that's why we're helping her!"

Harry scratched the back of his head. "So what is it? What's your… 'master plan'?"

Ginny pulled a mischievous grin.

* * *

"A blind date? Really?" Hermione asked, hands on her hips. "No, Ginny. Just no."

"Hermione," Ginny whined. "I planned it out. Just this once. For me. And Harry."

As Hermione turned to face the Boy-Who-Lived with an accusatory expression on her face, he held up his hands.

"Way to make me into a pig led into slaughter, Ginny," he grumbled.

"You _agreed_ to this?" Hermione asked him, scrunching up to nose. "Traitor."

Harry sighed. "She may have low-key threatened me, but honestly, I do see her point, Hermione. You need to go out more. Stop being holed up in your office. Who knows, this person could be your soulmate."

"Soulmate!" Hermione rolled her eyes. "Fine, I'll go. But you owe me."

* * *

"You owe me," Harry said simply, shrugging off his robes, tossing them onto his chair. "Come on, Malfoy. It's just a date."

"That's the thing," said Draco, glaring at him. "It's a bloody date."

"I hope it doesn't turn out bloody," Harry absent-mindedly remarked. "Besides, you owe me, remember? I saved your arse out in the field _multiple_ times. Don't you think it's time to pay me back?"

"Through a date? No. And it was _once_. You helped me once, and that was only because suspect was being sneaky and tried to get me from behind."

Harry snorted. "Fine, whatever you say. You're still a horrible Auror. Just go on the date. You might like her."

"No, I won't," Draco said.

* * *

"I don't like you."

"Glad to know my feelings are reciprocated."

The silence following was unbearable.

The restaurant atmosphere was very nice. Soft music flooded the room with quiet conversations. Candles were lit everywhere, making the restaurant seem warm and cozy. The plates and silverware were elegant and fancy. It was an ideal place for a romantic date.

"This sucks."

"I know."

"It's all Ginny's fault."

"It's Potter's, my case."

Hermione slumped in her chair. "I could be spending the day doing what I really want to, not spend it with _you_."

"I feel the same way, Granger," Draco snapped. "But we know for a fact that Potter and Weaslette—"

"It's Potter now," Hermione interrupted.

Draco scoffed. "We know for a fact that Potter and _Potter_ are out there in front of the restaurant with their bloody binoculars or whatever, watching us, so we can't really do anything."

Hermione's eyes widened as she straightened up. "Wait, Malfoy, you genius."

He smirked. "Why thank you, though I was quite aware I was one."

"Shut up. What I meant was that if Harry and Ginny are really spying on us—"

"They are, I can see them through the bloody window."

Hermione whipped her head around to look out the window. She caught a flash of silver and red, Harry's glasses and Ginny's hair, probably.

"Idiots," she muttered to herself. "So what I'm saying is that if they're really watching us… why not give them something to watch?"

Draco's grey eyes sparkled with mischief. "Are you saying…"

Hermione nodded, smiling widely. "Let's act like we're in love. Why not? We have nothing better to do."

"Deal."

* * *

"What the hell?" Ginny breathed. "What the actually bloody hell?"

"What?" Harry demanded. "What do you see?"

Ginny stuck her tongue out. "I thought you didn't want to know? You said you didn't want to spy on them, to give them privacy and all that load of dung."

Harry made a face. "You dragged me along, alright? I'm curious now."

Ginny gripped his arm, dragging her husband closer to the window. "Look. They're touching. Brushing hands. Smiling. Conversing. They're… flirting, Harry, they're flirting."

"Whoa…" he said, his breath fogging up the glass.

"Okay, not too close, Harry," Ginny chided him. "It'll look like we're spying."

"We are spying, Ginny."

"No… I mean yeah, but you don't need to make it obvious."

* * *

"You think they're buying it?"

"Harry's pressed up on the window looking like hell froze over, so I'm guessing they are."

* * *

"I can't believe they're getting along. They were always so cold to each other whenever they saw each other at other times. I honestly thought this date was going to fail."

Ginny shrugged. "Maybe meeting at the right moment, right place, made it work."

Harry grinned. "We're good matchmakers."

* * *

"Are you sure you want to take it that far?"

Draco gave her a lazy half-smirk. "I'd love to see Potter faint again, so why not?"

"You don't have a ring."

"We could Configure something into one."

"Like what—no! That's restaurant property! You can't Configure other people's property into something else!" Hermione exclaimed as Draco waved his wand to make a silver fork into a smooth ring.

"I'll throw in some galleons extra," he said nonchalantly.

"Fine. Give me."

Hermione slid on the ring on to her left fourth finger, examining in the light. "We're so smart, you know? Coming up with an idea like this."

"Now, don't start sounding cocky, Granger," Draco drawled, leaning back in his seat.

"Mmm. Let's go out, see their reaction."

Arm in arm, they left the restaurant.

"Oh, Ginny, Harry, didn't expect to see you here," said Hermione purposely happily.

"Oh—um, well—" They both spluttered like kids being caught stealing from the cookie jar.

Harry coughed. "We just wanted to… erm, check your progress."

Hermione let out a tinkly laugh and held up her left hand. "Made quite a lot of progress, actually," she said, smiling at Draco.

Ginny stared at the silver ring as Harry clutched the window pane.

"Wh–what?"

"What the hell happened?"

The dumbfounded expressions on their faces were priceless.

"Wait—you—I don't—"

Hermione and Draco both burst out laughing. "The looks on your faces!" Hermione gasped, doubling over. "Merlin, it's hilarious!" She took the ring off.

"It's fake," Draco stated. "Meant as revenge."

"For setting us up," Hermione clarified.

"How could you do that?" Ginny demanded. "Trick us like that?"

Both of them shrugged. "You made us go on this date together so we decided to make the most out of it. We had fun, right?" Draco said.

Hermione laughed. "Yeah, so much fun. We came up with the most brilliant yet ridiculous idea to trick you and guess what? You guys fell for it!"

Harry grumbled, while Ginny glared at them.

"That was bloody brilliant."


	10. Out In the Rain

A/N: This was written for a writing challenge. Gardening, Task #3: Write about someone getting caught in the rain.

Warnings: Oops, I curse; Dramione; absolute rambling, I should really stop writing at 12AM...

Word Count: 858

* * *

 **Out In the Rain**

* * *

"This is your fault."

Hermione whirled around and pinned the blond with a glare. "Excuse me? My fault? You're the one who got us in this place!"

Draco snorted, flicking a strand of damp hair out of his face. "Sure. Well, whose fault was it that we actually ended up with this in the first place?"

Hermione scowled. "When I suggested the idea to Professor McGonagall, trust me, this is not what I had in mind."

They kept walking up the trail in silence, the only sound being the squish of mud under their shoes and the soft pitter patter of raindrops on leaves.

"What else did you expect? Of course she'd pair the Gryffindor and Slytherin together. House unity and all that dung."

"Please, Malfoy, could you just shut up for five minutes?"

"And make your life easier? No way."

Hermione turned to face him again, irritation making her entire being tremble. "We're both sopping wet here and we don't have our wands, or the ability to Apparate out of here because of these goddamn wards. We're both suffering, so just stop being an arse and help me figure out a way out here instead of following me like a wet dog!"

"Wet dog?" Draco asked, unamusedly raising his eyebrows.

Hermione groaned, pausing. "Of course that's what you pick up on."

"No, no, it was just an interesting choice of words."

Hermione ran a hand through her wet curls, wincing in annoyance at how tangled and frizzy it had become in the drizzle. "Okay. So we're supposed to work together to find a way out of this stupid forest because of the stupid unity project Professor gave us as fast as possible, and frankly, I want to spend the least amount of time with you as possible. I'm sure you do too, so please let's just have a bloody truce or cooperation or whatever so we could get out the damn rain!"

Draco blinked, under his cloak he was shielding his head with before rolling his eyes. "Fine. A truce. For now."

Hermione gave him a small nod in acknowledgement before continuing forward.

Several more moments passed with silence between the two seventh year students when the rain started falling progressively faster.

"Are you kidding?"

"First sign up insanity: yelling at the sky for raining."

"Shut up, Malfoy."

The blond shrugged, though Hermione couldn't see that. "Just pointing that out."

"Well, don't point anything else out that doesn't contribute to us getting out of this forest."

"Wonder how they even made it."

Hermione huffed. "It's a real forest, Malfoy, it's just that they set up wards so we can't Apparate or do magic inside it. We just have to find the Portkey and we're out of here."

"I know that. It's just… I'm trying to lighten the mood here, Granger. Ever since we got roped into this project you've been trying to bite my head off," Draco said, jamming his hands into his robe pockets, disdainfully looking at the mud slicked on his shoes.

"Can you blame me?" was Hermione's curt answer.

"I don't know. I'm just going to blame it on the rain for now. You really don't like it, huh?"

"It's not the rain, Malfoy—"

"I swear you have something against rain. I mean, I suppose it's a bit annoying. Gets your robes all wet, and your hair all puffed up, and Merlin, my socks and shoes are squelchy—yeah, yeah, I get why you're pissed."

"That's not why."

Draco halted as Hermione had turned around again, looking at him with her hands on her hips.

"That's not why, Malfoy," Hermione repeated. Rain continuously fell around them, soaking them as well. "It's just—it's hard to trust you. You know, after… after last year."

Draco tensed as the the unwanted memories he had painstakingly locked away started drifting back, his previously airy mood completely dissipated. He thought that she had forgiven him. She told that she had. Of course, not everyone had; almost everyone still hated him and cursed him and called him names, but of all people he thought that Hermione had forgiven him but now, her standing there with awkwardness and distrust written all over her face, suddenly, it felt like he couldn't breathe—

"You, no—it's not that I—I hate you or anything, but it's just… it's hard to forget."

Draco nodded numbly, forgetting about his coldness and wet clothing and the steady thrum of rain as he tried to regain control of his head again. "I know. I don't expect you to trust me anytime soon… it's…"

"You know what?" Hermione said. "Forget it, we'll talk later. In a more private place. For now, we have to find the goddamn Portkey and get the hell out of here."

Draco gave a her a small smile. "You're cursing, Granger. A lot. I'm beginning to believe that you do have something against rain."

"It's too wet," Hermione grumbled, stomping ahead.

"Newsflash, rain's too wet," Draco drawled, his sarcasm coming back as he shook his head from any depressing thoughts.

They had to get out the forest after all.

Or they'd be stuck in the rain forever.


	11. Snug

A/N: Written for a writing challenge. **Task #2, Crocheting:** Write about someone enjoying a warm cardigan, jumper or blanket.

Warnings: Jily (… is that it? Is that what it's called?), a sick James, a thoroughly exasperated Lily

Word Count: 1084

* * *

 **Snug**

* * *

"It's really your fault."

James peeked up from under his cocoon of blankets, glaring at the light. "It's my fault that it was raining?"

Lily let out a sigh of exasperation, though she really didn't mind. "It's my fault that I have to babysit you, you idiot."

"So you're blaming me that Sirius, Peter, and Remus are too busy to take care of me?"

"Yes."

"How does that even make sense?"

"Because it's your fault you got sick in the first place."

James let out a small huff. "The only reason I got sick in the _first place_ was because it was raining during the Quidditch match. Blame the rain!" He tilted his head. "Huh. That sounds kinda catchy. It should be some sort of slogan, _blame the rain_."

Lily groaned, looking up at the ceiling. "I have things to do, James! How about you just go to sleep? I don't want to stay in this cold-contaminated boys dormitory longer than I have to."

James rubbed his eyes blearily. "I _am_ kind of tired," he said before breaking out into a coughing spasm. He accepted the glass of water Lily silently offered. "But stay with me. Please, Lily?"

"Aren't you one needy, whiny person."

"Please?"

"Fine." Lily crossed her legs, observing James from the chair by his bed. "But only for a while."

"Would I be pushing it if I said I wanted cuddles?"

"James, I swear…"

"This blanket's really warm, y'know. And real snuggly."

Lily snorted at James's pleading expression. "Yeah, warm from your fever. And all blankets are snuggly."

"Nuh uh. Not the one Sirius gave to me on Christmas. That green one was horrendously ugly and itchy."

Lily had to bite a smile from James's adorableness. She wasn't sure if it was because the cold medicine she had forced into James made him delirious, or if it was anything else, but she was secretly glad to see such a soft side of James that he usually covered up with an arrogant and confident facade.

"Nice try, but no snuggles. You're sick," she replied.

"Shame," James said, casting his gaze up dramatically at the ceiling. "If Sirius was here, he'd give me cuddles…"

"Well, I'm not Sirius, am I?"

James yawned. "Nah. You're better. But don't tell him I said that."

Lily looked at the dark-haired boy in surprise. Better? Than Sirius? The almighty drama queen? His ultimate best friend? There was slight flutter in Lily's chest.

James's eyes closed. "G'night, Lily."

"James, it's three in the afternoon."

He mumbled something incoherent before curling into his blanket even further.

Lily sighed and leaned back in her chair.

After a couple hours of reading and doing homework next to James's bed, Lily looked up at the sound of muffled footsteps pounding up the stairs.

"Lily? You're still here?"

Lily stood up, stretching. "Yeah. Where were you? James is sick and none of you guys were available to take care of him."

Sirius stood awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Well, it seems like you're doing a good job."

Remus and Peter stood behind him, looking slightly guilty.

"Are you still busy?" Lily asked. "Or can one of you take over?"

"No, no," Sirius said frantically. "We're all busy. Very busy. Right, Remus? We're really busy."

Remus rolled his eyes before nodding. "Yes. Very busy."

"Yeah. In fact, we're so busy right now, we have to leave. Right now," Sirius said with a pointed look at Remus and Peter.

Lily raised her eyebrows. For being the extreme pranksters of Hogwarts, the foursome had quite the trouble lying to Lily, and she could see right through them. But she didn't bother to interrogate their queer behaviour; whatever they did, no matter how hard she tried to stop it, it would happen anyway.

"Mmm. Okay."

The three of them edged out of the room.

"Lils?" James's hoarse voice croaked. "You're still here?"

Lily refilled the glass of water and handed it to James, who struggled to sit up. "You told me to, James."

James set the glass aside after a long drink. "Was someone else here? I thought I heard voices."

Lily shrugged. "Your friends," she replied. "They're busy, apparently."

"Huh," James said. "That's weird."

"Anyway," Lily said. "I have some Muggle medicine for colds you need to take."

She flicked her wand elegantly and Conjured the medicine. She poured some onto a spoon and held it out to James.

He leaned forward to sniff it, the blanket falling from his chest. "Yuck," he said. "Smells disgusting."

"It's very effective; do you want your cold to be gone or not?"

James pulled the covers up to his head. "Nuh uh. It's all brown and goopy."

Lily yanked the blanket off of the 7th year boy who was acting like an eight year old. "Don't be a sissy and just take it."

James took the blanket back. "Don't take away my blankie," he said, mock sniffling. "I'll get cold."

"James," Lily hissed. "I will make you eat this if it's the last thing I do because I am _not_ taking care of a sick James all weekend since all your idiotic friends are too busy or whatever."

James hide under the covers for another couple of moments before throwing them off and pouting, reluctantly acquiescing.

"Here comes the airplane," she said in a monotone.

"Do I just play along, or…?"

"Just swallow the bloody airplane."

James made a face as he swallowed. "Never again," he muttered. "This better be worth it."

Lily hummed in response, returning to her book.

"Lily?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm bored."

"Okay. Go back to sleep."

"Really? I literally just slept for five hours."

Lily looked up with exaggerated irritation. "Fine. What do you want to do?"

"Snuggle?" James asked hopefully.

"I'll read to you," Lily said, pointedly ignoring James's suggestion.

James scooted over in his bed, patting the space beside him. "Sit here and read to me."

Lily was about to decline, but James's puppy eyes caught her off-guard and she found herself absently nodding.

She shook her head as she climbed in to James's bed, savoring the warmth that radiated from the blankets and James.

He pulled the soft blanket around them. "Told you it was warm," he said smugly.

"Ninety percent positive it's from your fever, like I've said before," Lily replied, flipping her book open, sliding a little more closer to James. "Oh, and James, if I get sick from this, I will murder you."

James smiled widely. "Got it."


	12. The Wrong Stop

A/N: This was written for a writing challenge. Muggle Music: Show Tunes, Task #7: "Racing Against the Clock" (The Pajama Game): Write about being late.

Word Count: 635

* * *

 **The Wrong Stop**

* * *

"Oh no."

"That's right," Sirius agreed. "Lily's gonna kill you."

James groaned, frantically looking through his closet. "Where's my suit, Sirius?"

Sirius snorted. "There's such a thing called magic, Prongs," he said, waving his wand. James's outfit for the day flew from the rack in the closet to Sirius.

James snatched it out of Sirius's grasp, shooing him out. "Let me change," he said.

"Will you let me back in to fix your atrocious hair?" Sirius asked as James pushed him out the door of his bedroom.

"I'm calling Remus for that because you're useless," James said flatly, slamming the door in Sirius's face.

He ignored Sirius's indignant splutters from the other side of the door as he tried to pull on his suit as fast he could. James spared a glance at his watch— _damn it, he was still late_ —as he ran a hand through his hair. _Good enough,_ he thought as he looked into the mirror. He really shouldn't have been getting ready for that long...

A loud cracked startled James, making him jump.

"Hiya," Sirius said mischievously, casually flicking imaginary dust off his pristine robes. "Didja have to call Remus yet?"

"Go away," James grumbled. "Okay, so where do we have to go?"

Sirius widened his eyes comically. "How will I tell you where to go if I were to 'go away', James?"

"Sirius!" James said frustratedly. "Just tell me what the address is."

Sirius wordlessly handed James a scrap of paper with an address scrawled on it.

"Okay, okay, I got this," he muttered, reading the words over and over again. He closed his eyes, trying to burn it in his memory.

"Ready?" Sirius said. "Don't Splinch yourself. Don't wanna deal with any Ministry workers today. Besides, Lily is gonna—"

"—kill me for being late, I know," James finished. "Okay, let's go."

With a deafening crack, the two men swirled out of view of the bedroom.

* * *

When James opened his eyes, there was melancholy music playing as people stood in a small circle in front of the room. He was definitely in a church like he had intended to be, judging by the towering walls, glittering tapestries, and stained windows, but…

"Merlin's balls," James muttered. He was at the wrong place.

The people turned to look at him with confused, curious, and annoyed expressions, and the outline of a coffin caught James's eye.

He was at a funeral, of all places.

Cursing under his breath, James backed away slowly, trying to remember the correct address. He concentrated, then Apparated.

* * *

Organ music flooded his ears as he burst through the giant doors. "I'm here, I'm here!" he called, tripping over his feet.

Lily was at the front with the priest—Merlin, she looked stunning—giving him an unimpressed, exasperated look. The church went silent as they all openly stared.

"I'm sorry I'm late," James offered, walking down the aisle to Lily, conscious of everyone's gaze.

The priest started speaking as he approached the side of the redhead.

"Late to your own wedding, Potter," Lily hissed, though there was no real venom in her words. Only a hint of dryness.

"Sorry," James apologized again, flashing his fiance a toothy grin. "Got a bit caught up on looking good for you today."

She snorted. "Look where that got you."

The priest droned on.

"I don't look nice?" James asked, feigning disbelief.

"Kinda," she said. "Not really."

James discreetly stuck his tongue out.

"You may kiss the bride."

Lily raised her eyebrows as if asking, _you gonna do it or shall I?_

Both of them leaned forward into a kiss. Everyone started cheering.

"James Potter," Sirius's indignant voice called out. "Why were you late? I got here before you!"

"Oh," he said sheepishly. "I accidentally went to a funeral at first."

Lily gasped, lightly cuffing him. "You're weird."


	13. Explosion

_A/N: Written for a writing challenge. Media Studies, Task #2, The Breakfast Club: Write about a group of students in detention (the students mustn't be friends prior)._

 _Word Count: 960_

* * *

 **Explosion**

* * *

Headmistress McGonagall sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. She walked into the room, eyeing the seated students warily, pinning them down with a deprecating glare.

"I hope all of you understand your behavior today was completely unacceptable in the classroom."

There was murmur meek agreement from the children. They sat in a neat row in the desk in front of her; Albus Potter, Rose Granger-Weasley, Teddy Lupin, and Scorpius Malfoy.

She shook her head in exasperation. She _knew_ she should've resigned from the position of Headmistress as soon as she heard that there would be a Potter, Granger-Weasley, Lupin, _and_ a Malfoy attending Hogwarts that year, but no, the portrait of Dumbledore in her office had insisted that it would be an 'interesting year'. Well, that was the last time she'd ever take advice from that man again.

The oily portrait of Snape probably didn't help much either. _Oh but Minerva_ —his voice was still imprinted inside her skull in an angry ricochet she desperately wanted to forget.

Minerva huffed out an angry breath. She had no idea what to do with four students who clearly didn't like each other for a whole hour. She had been them with them for detention duty as the other teacher had carefully avoided this shift. _Oh, Merlin_.

"So," she said, trying to access the situation. To put them together for a group task, or to doom them into isolation? _I don't even know anymore. I'm officially just done_. "Under careful thought, I have come to the conclusion of talking it out, rather than detention, as I believe that will resolve this situation more effectively."

There was an uneasy silence as the students glances among themselves.

"Can anyone tell me what was the issue?"

"Scorpius was being dumb," Rose announced crisply. "Obviously, he doesn't have two brain cells to rub together—"

"Hey!"

"This isn't a time for excuses to insult each other," Minerva warned, feeling some of her soul seep away from existence.

Rose glowered at the blond boy, chin held high.

"Rose and I are Potions partners," Scorpius said calmly. "I was following Slughorn's instructions, but she thought it would be a good idea to deviate from them, following her own way."

"It was more efficient," Rose insisted. "I read a lot on Potions and shortcuts and I _know_ what to do and what not to do. The instructions were dumb and pointless, and this Potions grade was going to be a large part of the semester."

"Which you screwed up," Scorpius pointed out.

"If you hadn't cut up those lotus roots incorrectly, _maybe_ the Potions room would still be intact, not charred and ruined like it is now," Rose hissed. She was practically up from her seat, glaring at Scorpius on the left of her.

"Alright, thank you for your sides of the story," McGonagall said. She switched her attention to Albus and Teddy, who sat nonchalantly, idly looking down at their desks. "Why were you two involved at all?"

Albus sighed. "I got hit by the book Rose meant to throw at Scorpius after the unfortunate decision of choosing to sit at the same tables. And then I got made and threw a book back at her."

The Headmistress nodded, turning to Teddy. He shifted in his seat. "I may have Morphed into Scorpius—he _asked_ me to; I didn't even know why he wanted me to—and switched seats with him while Rose went to get ingredients."

"And then?"

He let out a long breath. "Rose yelled at me, I cut the roots wrong, the dungeons exploded, and somehow we all ended up here."

Rose looked scandalized. "It was _you_ the whole time?"

Teddy raised his hands in surrender. "Hey, Scorpius asked me to, alright?"

"Why?" Albus questioned to Scorpius. "That was extremely dumb."

Rose snorted, muttering a _no duh_ under her breath.

Scorpius shrugged. "Because I was bored and Rose was giving me such a hard time."

"Was not!"

"Mhm. And besides, I figured we needed something to bond over."

"And you thought blowing up the dungeons was a way to do that?" Albus asked, raising his eyebrows. McGonagall watched their exchange amusedly. _You don't get to see this any day._

"In my defense," Teddy stated, his bubblegum pink hair shifting into a blinding green, "I genuinely did not know that slicing the roots horizontally instead of vertically and putting them in before the boomslang skin would make the potion explosive. Guess I'm not a good Herbology student."

"It practically isn't Herbology, it's basic apothecary." Rose groaned and turned to Scorpius. "I can't even bring myself to hate you anymore since it was Teddy who messed up on the potion. _Now_ who can I blame? Or hate?"

"How about no one?" Scorpius tried tentatively. "I mean, I know you and Potter are family friends, and you're warming up to Lupin here, and we're Potions partners anyways, why don't we, I dunno, call a truce to this unspoken rivalry we had, and… you know… maybe be friends."

Rose eyed him suspiciously. "Fine," she acquiesced. "Acquaintances."

Scorpius nodded. "I'll take that. But hey, you know what? We should all have some sort of bonding time together."

"Uh, no."

Albus made a face. "Yeah, but no."

Teddy looked down at his fingers. "I mean…"

Scorpius shrugged. "Not there yet? I guess we could work on our friendship a bit."

Rose snorted. "What friendship was there to begin with?"

McGonagall leaned back in her rigid chair. "Sorted everything out, students?"

They all looked up in surprise. "Uh… I guess."

 _Thank goodness. I need to catch up with corrections for Transfiguration papers._ "Fantastic. Since you worked things out and don't feel hatred towards each other anymore… you may leave."

They all shuffled out the room together.


End file.
